


Talkin' After Midnight

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And also Skype obviously, Angst and Humor, Autism, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Business Trip, Conversations, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Humor, Inspired by Music, Journalist Castiel, Late Night Conversations, Lawyer Sam, M/M, Mention of posthumous birth, Pregnancy, Skype, Teacher Dean, Uncle Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, babe? I’m listening.”</p><p>“No, you’re not,” Cas deadpans, leaning back on the germy bedframe in his hotel room. “If that were the case, you would’ve rick rolled me when I got to the walking away part of the story.” </p><p>Dean claws his face like a mother hen coming home to an empty nest. “Ugh, you're right, I would’ve totally rick rolled you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talkin' After Midnight

_Kissing Dean Winchester is like rubbing sandpaper on your skin: It's hot and it's real—a rash that consumes you until you're itching like the second hand on a Timex, climbing towards a climax you're not 100% certain you're going to reach but there's only one way to find out, so you keep raking your nails down the beaten path of the only thing that keeps you conscious most days—that wanting, that needing, that constant impulse to throw gasoline on a fire completely internal—_

"And?"

"And... what?"

"Why'd you stop?"

Castiel's glasses skate down his nose before he plucks them from his cloudburnt face. "Because that's exactly what happened. It all... stopped."

He doesn't have to look up and read the orange and lightly pixelated stars across Dean's face to know the big dipper's facing south. "Babe... I know this is hard—"

"Hard?" Cas snorts. "Poetry is hard. This-this is..." He hesitates, pinching the bridge of his nose as he braves a look at his boyfriend. "I'm sorry."

Dean laughs, a sound akin to a German chocolate cake: rich and layered. Cas typically swallows it with his tongue. "It's okay. I get that you're under a lot of pressure. Zachariah's not as impressionable as a group of five-year-olds."

"At least your kids act their age. Yesterday he had me tracking down a phantom source that led me to a Farmer’s Market. Do you know how fast fruits spoil in Phoenix? I’ll give you a hint: _Damn fast.”_

“I remember a time when we had fun with fruits.” Cas thinks the screen’s frozen as Dean takes a brief vacation from his thoughts. He looks cute the way his nose scrunches and his ripened lips part; Cas wouldn’t really mind if he was frozen. “Fun with Fruits. We could start our own cooking show! It could be an interactive experience for the kids; you wouldn’t have to travel all the time… Cas, babe, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, just sweating out of my eyes. Damn Arizona."

"Baby, listen, when you get back home, we're gonna binge The Wire and stuff our faces with my home-famous Cajun burgers, alright?" Dean pauses, shifting in his desk chair to get closer to the screen before tossing Cas a wink: "Then we're gonna work on finishing your fan fiction."

Cas shakes his head with a wry grin. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I pull my hair out wondering the same thing every day."

"Hey, leave the hair pulling to me."

Dean's eyes unravel like fresh kale. "I love you."

"I know," Cas replies, grinning through a wet face. He blows a kiss that gets stuck on Dean's cheek. "Goodnight, assbutt."

"Goodnight, angel."

**

“What? Why are you Skyping me at… _12:45 in the morning?_ We live 5 miles from each other— _”_

“Are you decent?”

“From what you can see. Even if I wasn’t, you wouldn’t have given me much time to—”

Before Dean can transition into his typical banter, the laptop on the other end moves with the ease of Mount Rushmore, revealing his sister-in-law Eileen. The lights from the fluorescents in the kitchen behind her poke through her small underarms and around her beige, bloated waist, which holds more helium last he saw her in May. The flushed pears representing her cheekbones crinkle her brown eyes as she brings her thumb to her chest and slowly makes an arc over her stomach.

Sam’s horsehair rides into the scene again, gauging Dean’s reaction.

Dean’s face might as well be cast in stone, which may not be the best photo on a job application to be a second-time uncle.

“Oh my God,” he says with a tone equivalent to a flat line in a hospital. Realizing the little red light is still on, he mentally tweaks the machine until there’s some sort of pulse. “ _Oh._ Oh my God!”

“Sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Sam says, hoarding half the screen like the moose he is, “we’ve just been trying to keep it secret from Mary-Maura. You know how sensitive she is to change.”

“Yeah, I do. I work with her five days a week, Sammy.”

“Yeah, no, I know, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No, no, I get it; you couldn’t trust me to keep a secret.”

“Dean—”

“Eileen,” Dean interjects as Sam crosses the few megapixels of pathway like a good moose, ‘ _You’re too good for this family. Escape while you can.’_

Eileen throws her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘ _The only person who has a better chance escaping is this one,’_ she replies, gesturing to her low-risen bun of a belly.

“I heard that!” Sam yells off-camera. “Or… you know what I mean.”

Like a Band-Aid on an English bulldog, Eileen’s laugh violently peels back, “Bye, Dean.”

“Bye, guys. See you guys tomorrow?”

 _With bells on,_ Eileen says. _You know, so Sam doesn’t go too far—even though I wouldn’t know the difference._

“He’s a good man,” Dean says, forcing a small smile. “Give Mary-Maura a kiss for me.”

_Only if you promise to save Cas one from me._

**

"So I said, ‘Sir could you repeat your name?’ Then he started walking away from me so I asked, ‘Would you say this is a predominant trait in men because you know my boyfriend Dean, total pain in my ass -literally and figuratively - he does this **all the time** whenever I try to talk to him’… Dean.”

Cas isn’t sure what’s wrong, but he knows something’s up. Dean’s designed like a bowling lane. If Cas pitches his story, be it a five-pounder or a fifteen-pounder, and it glides down the middle of the wooden plank known as conversation, he knows he’ll strike out. If the ball bounces off the bumpers or slows down before it reaches its destination, there’s most likely a glitch in the sweeper.

“Yeah, babe? I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not,” Cas deadpans, leaning back on the germy bedframe in his hotel room. “If that were the case, you would’ve rick rolled me when I got to the walking away part of the story.”

Dean claws his face like a mother hen coming home to an empty nest. Dean’s passive-aggressive at best. While that typically avoids a string of blowouts, it simultaneously builds a wall between he and Cas. “Ugh, you’re right, I would’ve totally rick rolled you,” he grumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m just…”

“Rick rolled tighter than a sushi ball?”

Dean nods, hands dragging over his mouth. “Guess you could say that.”

Cas doesn’t know a lot about mechanics, but he does know how to get to the truth: “Dean, what’s the scoop?”

“I saw Mary-Maura today.”

“Oh yeah!” Cas exclaims, jumping on the metallic lump beneath his buttocks. God, he really hates Dean for being right about memory foam. “How was the first day back? Stressful, I imagine, but as you say, totally worth it. I remember you telling me about that time during Career Day and Mary-Maura had brought Sam and said she wanted to be a professional _hair grower_ like her father—”

“She’s gonna have a sister—or brother, I don’t know yet. I’m just not sure—”

“Wait, back the decaf train up,” Cas says. “How did you find out? I mean you _just_ got back to work.”

“Apparently this family’s good at keeping secrets, except me. It happened over break. Sam just now got around to telling me _after_ the two weeks’ notice because he didn’t trust me to keep it from Mary-Maura.”

Cas feels his puppet master let go of his strings, leaving him with droopy features. “Oh, Dean…”

“It’s fine,” Dean replies, sipping from the beer next to him. “He probably had his reasons.”

“But babe, it’s your niece or nephew; you deserve to know—especially how to deal with the repercussions professionally and personally. You know how well Mary-Maura’s been doing, considering the circumstances with Jess; I mean that’s enough to send anyone over the edge if they knew, let alone a child with Asperger’s.”

Dean can _only_ nod now. “I know.”

“I love you.”

A smile pushes Dean’s lips. “I know.”

“So does Sam.”

“Even if he’s a pain in my ass?”

Cas laughs, “ _Especially_ if he’s a pain in your ass.”

“Alright, well, I think I’ll leave you to your beauty rest—like you even _need_ it, but you know,” Dean retorts, causing the tips of Cas’s ears to break into a rash, “it’s, what, 10pm over there?”

“Technically, even though I can still feel the sun having a stare-off with my back.” Cas pauses, then: “You sure you’re okay? I can stay up longer if you still need to vent…”

Dean holds up his hand, blocking half the screen. “No, I insist. You have a big day tomorrow. First press conference with the _governor,_ when the hell did that happen??”

“Yeah, well, a bunch of other reporters are going to be there, and it’s only about a potential power plant.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still proud of you, even if Zachariah shits out too many diamonds.”

“But if _I_ started shitting out diamonds,” Cas muses, “I wouldn’t have to work these crazy functions.”

Dean shakes his head, laughing, “Goodnight, angel.”

“Goodnight, assbutt.”

“Oh, and babe?” Cas chimes.

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.”

**

“Dean? What the hell? It’s 12:16…”

“Ha. That’s _hilarious_ coming from Mr. Night Moves.”

Sam scrubs his face down the premature teabags (they’re probably packed with herbs or some shit because Sam’s thumb is that green) under hazelnut eyes with a groan before moving into the computer room. There, with the moonlight sashaying through the half-drawn blinds, Dean can see the outline of the black pentagram tattoo borderlining Sam’s collarbone. “Alright, what’s up?”

“You need to get yours touched up.”

Sam blinks a few times before his chin meets his windpipe. “Oh yeah, it’s fading pretty fast.”

“One too many nights in Cancun will do that.”

“Not _enough.”_

Dean’s jaw clamps up in a way that’s probably noticeable on camera, but he manages to hold Sam’s gaze as he says, in a laundry of words, “I’m sorry, man. I was being dick—probably ‘cos I haven’t been getting my boyfriend’s for well over a week—when I should’ve been congratulating you.”

Sam snaps his head to the side. “On what, exactly?”

“Oh, uh, nothing,” Dean says, mock-harrumphing, “nothing at all.”

The corners of Sam’s lips twitch, making for an unsuccessful endeavor at keeping in character. “Thanks, man, but you know what, I’m sorry too. You’re right; I should’ve trusted you to keep a secret. I can chalk it up to a thousand different excuses, you know, the paperwork on the Wheeler case still isn’t finished, Eileen’s been nervous about her first child, Bones has been a wreck with monsoon, but there’s really no excuse for me not being your brother.”

“I haven’t been the greatest, either,” Dean confesses. “Remember that time I dumped you at Plucky’s?”

Sam shakes his head scoffing, irritating his cockatoo hairdo, “How could I forget? That place gave me nightmares for _weeks_ after.”

“Yeah, and I had to keep tucking you in because you kept trying crawl in bed with me…”

“… and then I finally succeeded.”

Dean shrugs, causing the laptop to teeter-totter just slightly, “You were a cute kid. A cute, chubby little—”

“Alright, okay, you made your point,” Sam laughs before getting lost in the memory. “Yeah…”

Dean’s a slave to his lips curling up. No matter how old they get, they always end up here: donning their PJs, reminiscing about their sucky childhood. The only thing missing from this hopelessly sad scene is a laundromat and a deck of cards. “Well, I better let you go. You _definitely_ need beauty rest.”

“Up yours.”

“Afraid that’s already someone else’s job,” Dean smarts, winking. “Hey, uh, real quickly, do you know if Eileen’s friend Mildred is still working that traveling acapella group?”

Sam combs his fingers over his farmland of a forehead and through his hair. “Uh, I think so. Why?”

“I’ll talk to you about it in the morning… bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

**

“What the hell do you mean you couldn’t ask a question?”

Cas blows through his nose like Monstro spitting out Pinocchio and Geppetto. Zachariah’s sporting a chalk white Ralph Lauren shirt with the collar popped a little too far for Cas’s liking—that is, if he liked _anything_ about him—and his disembodied raccoon hair licking his forehead like the thing that _eats_ raccoons. “Sir, Governor Roman was under a tight schedule, but I did wrestle with another source, Lieutenant Governor, Fergus McLeod—”

“Castiel, I gave you specific instructions…”

This is the part where Castiel’s brain composts into static for eco-friendly purposes. 

That is until he receives a notification for a video message.

Before he can decipher who it is at such an absurd hour of the morning, a knock announces itself on his door.

 _Weird,_ he thinks, getting up from the edge of his bed, the needling sound of Zachariah’s voice his soundtrack as he journeys the short path to the entrance.

He opens the door, which reveals half a dozen middle-aged women with busty hairdos and floral dresses. Before he can get a word in, they start singing:

 

_“I'm back in baby's arms_

_How I missed those lovin' arms_

_I'm back where I belong_

_Back in baby's arms…_

_Thought I didn't need his love_

_'Til he took it away_

_Now I'm back where I belong_

_And in my baby's arms I'm gonna stay…”_

 

On that last note, the group divides in half, revealing none other than his smiling suited boyfriend, ever the charmer, Dean Winchester.

And, well, let’s just say that night Cas’s fan fiction _never_ stopped.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mildred's tribute band played "Back in my Baby's Arms" by Patsy Cline. My grandma was a huge fan, so I loved the mention in the show. "Walkin' After Midnight" is also a famous Patsy Cline song. (:


End file.
